


You Need To Stop Leaving Dead Bodies In My Kitchen

by thedoctorslostcompanion



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5925874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedoctorslostcompanion/pseuds/thedoctorslostcompanion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian wakes to find Jim in his kitchen. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Need To Stop Leaving Dead Bodies In My Kitchen

“What the fuck?”

Sebastian thought he was going mad. The noises that stole him from sleep were loud, aggressive, but, at the same time, hushed – almost as if someone, or something, was trying to muffle them. Normally, Sebastian would have simply groaned at the disturbance. He would have liked to toss onto his side, pull his pillow over his head and return to his dreams of women and booze, but he couldn’t anymore. Ever since starting work for Jim Moriarty, Sebastian found himself unable to sleep through the nights. 

He recalled one particular evening, last October, when he found himself in a most compromising situation. 

Sebastian had just stepped out of the shower, and left the bathroom without bothering to dry his hair. He was alone, anyway, or so he thought. After sauntering over to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat, Sebastian turned to see a bald, seemingly Russian man, leaning against a wall. The stranger scratched at his tattooed knuckles while looking Sebastian up and down.

“Ah,” he said in a husky manner, “I see why Moriarty likes to have you next to ‘im. Or, should I say,” the man noted with a wry smirk at a very particular area, “on _top_ of ‘im.” 

It was at this moment that Sebastian realised he was completely naked.

“Fuck,” he sighed. 

“You know, I don’t have to do my job of, you know, killing you, right now. In fact,” the intruder professed, “I may even have time for a small detour..”

Sebastian knew exactly where the Russian was going with this, and he was determined not to fall for the bullshit that this man was exhaling. 

“Well,” Sebastian said, taking strides to come face to face with the stranger, “I may even be willing to join you in said detour.” 

He ran a finger along the Russian’s exposed wrist, exciting a quickened heartbeat from him. Sebastian knew that he had this effect on women, but lately he had been noticing the men’s responses as well. All part of the charm, he supposed. 

Then taking a cue from his new boss, Sebastian asked the man,

“Is that a Beretta 92FS in your pocket, or are you just getting ready for me?”

Before the Russian could utter a word, Sebastian slammed him face-first into the wall and pinned his wrists above his head. 

“Look at you, a little fucking fairy,” he growled into the man’s ear, whilst sliding his free hand down the front of the Russian. “You need a rough beating,” Sebastian continued, pressing hard and bare against him. 

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

Shoving the man away, Sebastian turned on his heel and began to walk back to his bedroom, cursing under his breath about the lack of a decent alarm system in the flat. It was then when he noticed the all too familiar sound of a handgun being cocked. He swore for not checking if the man had more concealed about him, but then Sebastian spun around and shot the Russian directly in between the eyes, with the gun that he had acquired just moments before.

“Obscenely late in the night and aim hasn’t changed,” he noted to himself, “Good job, Sebastian.” 

And with a scornful glance at the hit-man whose brains were becoming some new pretentious art piece all over his kitchen floor, Sebastian retired to his room for the night. 

 

Sebastian snapped back to the present when he heard a particularly loud scream. He turned to his bed table to see what the time was, and noted that it was only 3am. Groaning and swearing in four different languages, Sebastian got out of bed, checked that he was actually wearing pants, and made for the door of his bedroom. It took him maybe, seven seconds, to recognise the scent of sandalwood wafting through the hall, and only three seconds to then register who was unleashing hell in Sebastian’s kitchen. 

“Boss, what the fuck?”

Jim Moriarty popped up from behind the kitchen bench, face smattered with blood that was obviously not his own. 

“Is there a problem, Moran?”

“You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Jim said with a hint of mockery in his voice. “And besides,” he continued, with what sounded to be a boot to a liver, “the body isn’t entirely dead – yet.” 

Sebastian expected nothing less. Jim had always liked to play with his food. 

“Well, whenever you’re done, clean it up, for godssake. Can you imagine,” Sebastian asked the Irishman, “the shit I’ve had to say to Elina, you know, the _cleaning lady?_?”  
This evoked a shrill laugh from Jim, which made Sebastian feel just as uneasy at 3am as it did at 3pm. 

“You don’t fucking get it, do you, boss? “Oh yeah, all this red staining on the carpet is just a lot of spilled pasta sauce, Elina.” “Don’t stress, kids throw rocks at the windows all the time; absolutely no hitmen being wrestled out of them.” It’s a fucking load of shite, and she buys it, all of it!”

Jim made a melodramatic pout and shrugged his shoulders at the sniper. 

“Ordinary people, Moran. They’re so… Dull. Call me when you find one who knows how to remove 13 pieces of a German dagger from the innards of a man - neatly, of course," Jim lectured. "You, of all people, are aware of how I value my possessions. I don’t wish to see my handiwork go unappreciated.”

Suddenly, Jim was out of the room, leaving whatever he was doing exactly where he was doing it.

“Motherfucker,” Sebastian swore. 

“Not particularly!” Jim sung back to Sebastian. 

And with that, Sebastian heard his boss slam the door, marking him as having left the flat, and leaving Sebastian wondering what to do with the person, who was most likely a shocking mess, bleeding behind his bench.

“Another problem for another day,” Sebastian told himself, and left the body behind to retreat to his bedroom, where he’d hopefully recover the sleep that Jim had consciously swept from under his feet. When he got back to his bed, Sebastian noticed his phone light up with the alert of a new text. He knew only of one person who would text someone at 3am, and, when checking the screen, his suspicions were confirmed. 

_Elina will be over at 7am tomorrow morning. She thinks we hosted a dinner party. JM x._

“Lying bastard,” Sebastian chuckled, and with that, promptly returned to his pillow and dreams that most certainly did not feature a sly Irishman, oblivious housemaid, and a very, very questionable stain.

**Author's Note:**

> Thankyou so much for reading my first fic! I wrote this at midnight, so I hope it's not plagued with too many errors.   
> You can follow me on tumblr @thedoctorslostcompanion if you want to keep up to date with fics, updates, videos, or anything else I may do! x


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